


Such Great Heights

by thinktank



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fili/Kili side pairing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinktank/pseuds/thinktank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how Bilbo the grocer becomes neighbor to three men who he thinks might actually be in the mafia. This is also the story of how he ends up cooking them dinner sometimes because they happen to live off of microwaveable meals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

William, “Bilbo” Bogg had a very normal life. He was no one special; always kept his head down, paid his bills, and prided himself in his work. He lived just off of Bag End Place in a hole-in-the-wall apartment on the southern part of Shiretown. It was also in Shiretown that Bilbo owned a small market store with fresh fruit and vegetables sold daily, and frequented the tobacco shop next door to keep his pipe filled and ready for a puff or two. 

Bilbo didn’t own his store to make a profit, no that would defeat the purpose of the name! Bilbo’s Baggins was aptly named, because the main selling point was his grocery bags. If anyone could fill up a bag and keep it under three pounds, they could buy everything in it for only $5. Of course, some fruits and veggies were an exception, but for the most part, it kept things a little interesting in Bilbo’s daily life. 

Today was just like any other day, in fact. Bilbo opened his shop promptly at seven, toed his flip flops off behind the register, and went about barefoot while he did a last-minute check of all the goods to make sure nothing had spoiled magically overnight. The sun was already starting to peek in over the horizon, filtered through alleys and rooftops to make patches of warmth in different parts of the store. Bilbo’s favorite thing was the morning, so he took a seat behind his register and dug around for his spare pipe. Nothing was better on a morning like this than a smoke to get the day started.

He’d barely even finished his third puff when a tall, pale man entered the store. He ducked under the canopy, sliding his sunglasses up on his bald head and revealing eyes so blue they almost seemed white. In his hand was a leash, and at the other end of the leash was a massive white and grey dog that looked ready to gobble Bilbo up with a single snap of it’s teeth. Bilbo set his pipe down, swallowing back the urge to inform that man that there were no dogs allowed in the store. Instead, he plastered on a smile.

“Good morning!”

The pale fellow turned from his inspection of a fat cantaloupe, muscles in his neck bulging while he sneered down at Bilbo. “Morning,” the man said, though he sounded a tad too mocking for Bilbo’s taste. With another glance around the store, the man walked over to the register, dog following obediently. 

“Is there anything I can help you wi--” Bilbo cut off when the dog began to snarl, barking loudly and then lurching forward to snap at him. The pale man wrenched his dog back, uncaring of how much he’d frightened Bilbo and instead clubbing the mutt over the head until it yelped and quieted.

Looking up to Bilbo, the pale man gave him a simpering smile, “apologies. Warg isn’t fond of…little people,” the man said, staring down at where Bilbo had leapt out of his seat with a gasp. Sure, Bilbo wasn’t the tallest of men, but he was exactly two inches above the midget classification height. Bilbo was quite proud of those two inches, thank you very much.

“Quite all right,” he croaked, taking a seat back on his stool and nervously fiddling with his pipe-- wiping where the ashes and tobacco had spilled when he had dropped it on the counter.

A meaty, colorless hand was thrust into Bilbo’s face as the pale man continued to smile at him with such false cheer that it was unsettling. “Orson Azog.”

Bilbo hesitantly took his hand, “Bilbo,” he said, unwilling to tell a stranger his last name when, well, the news had reported kidnappings and murders daily. Bilbo would rather not become a statistic if he could help it. 

“I figured as much, given the store’s name,” Azog grinned, gums just as pale as the rest of him. 

Bilbo fiddled with his pipe, shrugging, “yes, well, my mother thought it was clever to name the store after her son. I was only ten at the time, and every little boy loves to have their name written on everything, yes?”

Azog looked around, humming. “Your mother’s store, then? I don’t suppose you might be looking to sell?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the man’s request. Bilbo’s mother and father had put their lives into the store--there was no way Bilbo would be willing to part with it. “Apologies, but I think not, sir. No, I don’t intend to sell at all, to be frank.”

The fake smile on Azog’s face fell quickly and abruptly, soon replaced with a frown. He reached into his suit (pale gray with yellow pinstripes) and pulled out a business card. “I hear that the crime has gone up in this part of town…should you ever change your mind,” Azog tapped the card, “give me a call.”

Bilbo was still struggling to think of what to say, even as Azog left with his massive beast of a dog. He felt shaken, because it wasn’t every day that this happened to him, and decided it would be a good day to reorganize the shop.

It took most of the afternoon to move the displays around, Bilbo was ready to close up early and take himself out for a much-deserved buffet dinner when a gentleman entered with the same curious air that Azog had only hours before. Most people in Bilbo’s shop were regulars; and the ones that weren’t soon became ones. To have this many strangers prancing about in his store was just nerve-wracking. 

“Good evening!” Bilbo chirped nonetheless, shoving his feet into the flipflops behind the register in case this man was one of those blasted safety-inspectors. Bilbo had lost count of the times he’d gotten a citation for wandering around his store barefoot. This man wore a dark, slim-fitting suit. He had sharp eyes and an equally sharp looking nose as he peered around the small shop and then stepped towards the register with purpose. 

Though, when the man finally looked up at Bilbo, he seemed to freeze in place. Bilbo felt equally frozen--mostly because he had a nasty habit of responding to sudden movements with his own panic. 

“Good….evening,” the man said slowly, tongue twisted with the curl of an unidentifiable accent. 

Bilbo fiddled with the business card Azog had left there earlier, gesturing to the store, “I close up in twenty minutes, so if you’d like something you might want to be quick. I wouldn’t want to rush you out or anything,” as he spoke, Bilbo watched the man’s eyes fall to the business card and then go wide.

Though Bilbo desperately wanted to be a snoop and ask the gentleman why he was behaving so oddly, he could really only stare in confusion as the man cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and then turned on his heel and stomped right back out the shop.

“Odd fellow,” Bilbo uttered to himself, “odd day,” he added, because it was.

He stopped at the tobacco store on his way home, stepping inside and ready to greet Mr. Welks when Bilbo realized that there was a stranger standing behind the counter. He hesitated in the entry, just for a moment, and then sighed to strengthen his nerves a bit before approaching the register. 

“Ah, hello,” he said, “is Mr. Welks here?”

The gentleman behind the counter--who had previously been puffing on a pipe and reading from a book-- looked up and smiled wide. “Sorry, friend. Mr. Welks don’t own the shop here no more. He just retired and all so he’s given it to me for safe-keeping,” the man thrust a hand out, and Bilbo took it and almost yelped when his hand was wrenched in a very strong handshake, “Bofur, at your service.”

“B-Bilbo at yours,” Bilbo stammered, taking his hand back and trying to shake it out as subtly as he could. It took a moment to remember the tobacco he’d wanted, and when Bofur slipped out behind the counter to help him reach it (because Mr. Welks must set Bilbo’s favorite flavor on the highest shelf just to be a bit cruel) he was quick to follow.

“My, Mr. Bilbo,” Bofur laughed, gesturing to Bilbo’s feet in nothing but a pair of sandals, “it’s still winter--your feet must be freezing!” as he spoke, he pulled down the tin and carried it to the register to ring it up.

Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, Bilbo shrugged. “I’ve got tough feet,” he said. Bofur nodded, seriously, and gestured to the hat that was sitting beside him on the counter while Bilbo gave him a few bills for the tobacco.

“Just be sure to keep warm things handy. Any time my ears get cold, I always wear my favorite hat. Warm body makes a warm heart, you know,” Bofur handed over the tin, as well as Bilbo’s receipt, “have a nice night, Mr. Bilbo.”

It was a rather nice night, to be completely honest. With the winter soon fading into spring, it left a crisp freshness in the air that kept Bilbo feeling invigorated as he walked his way back home. He was just outside his apartment when he spotted a nice fat armchair across the street with some sort of sign on it. 

Not one to turn down the idea of free anything, Bilbo hurried over to it and let out a delighted sound when the sign informed him that the armchair was ‘free to a good home.’ 

It was heavy, and hard to drag back across the street, but Bilbo figured that it was worth the effort. He was panting and huffing when he finally pushed it right up to the elevator door, feeling sweat on his head and back even with the cold weather. That was when he noticed the sign on the doors, all in capital letters, all red and reading OUT OF ORDER. USE STAIRS. 

Bilbo looked to the stairs in trepidation. Surely he could push and pull it up a flight and a half of stairs, right? Perhaps if he were larger, and maybe exercised more instead of spending all his time loafing about in his apartment eating cakes and scones. As it was, Bilbo felt exhausted from his day and ready to just leave the blasted thing where it was stuck on the fifth step. He sighed, sitting down next to the armchair and burying his face into his hands. Today seemed like a day meant to test Bilbo’s nerves, it seemed.

“Need help?”

Bilbo snapped his head up, staring at two young men (likely in their twenties, it seemed) who bore identical looks of excited amusement. The shorter one has blond hair long enough to end below his ears with the top bulled back into a tie, his smile framed with a well-trimmed goatee of matching color. The other one had dark brown hair and two-day scruff, his hair just as long and much less tamed. Bilbo found himself staring for far too long before he leapt to his feet.

“If you would be willing, it would be appreciated,” he said, gesturing to the chair, “it seems the elevator is broken and…well… I’m a bit lacking when it comes to being able to carry this thing up to my place.”

“Well,” said the dark haired one, grinning and looking to his companion, “I’m Kili.”

The blond one nodded, “and I’m Fili,” he echoed. Bilbo watched them both bow in unison, their voices chiming, “at your service!” together before Bilbo found himself lifted and dropped into the armchair. He yelped, clutching for dear life when Kili leapt over the chair and to the step above it. He was positive he’d just lost a few years of his life, and even more, when both young men grabbed the chair and lifted it with Bilbo still sitting on it. 

“I don’t really think this is necessary,” Bilbo stammered, heart hammering and terrified of being tossed from the chair as it rocked and swayed with their movements. The two men laughed, carrying him all the way to the third floor like Bilbo and the chair weighed nothing. 

“Which apartment, friend?” asked Fili. 

“Fourteen,” Bilbo gasped out, eyes clenched shut to help contain his fright. 

Kili made an excited noise as they walked the armchair down the hall. “Fourteen? Well, we’re in thirteen! Just moved in today, actually, you know.”

They set Bilbo down, letting him shakily unlock the door and then proceeding to try and find a fashion in which the chair could fit through the entry. “That’s nice,” Bilbo said weakly, looking between the two as his curiosity got the better of him. They were nice gentlemen, and the blond did have a very well groomed appearance. The similar names was a bit weird, but Bilbo doubted they could control that.

“Are you…together?”

Fili dropped the armchair and Kili yelped when it hit his foot. Bilbo instantly felt foolish, because plenty of men lived together without actually being in a relationship. Fili shook his head, smile strained as he apologized to Kili for dropping the chair and then looked to Bilbo. “No, we live with our uncle,” he explained, “we’re brothers.”

Kili’s head was downcast as he nodded and faintly said, “yeah, brothers,” before helping to get the chair fully into the apartment. 

Bilbo's apartment was rather cluttered at the moment; filled with all sorts of odds and ends, books brimming everywhere and papers and bills scattered across every surface. They helped Bilbo make a spot for his chair in the living room, and even turned down the money that Bilbo tried to pay them for their help.

“I could at least offer you dinner, then?” Bilbo asked when the notes were pushed back in his hands. Fili and Kili looked at one another in silent communication before they smiled at Bilbo and nodded together.

“I can fetch our uncle, if that’s okay?” Kili asked, “I don’t think he’s eaten all day.”

Bilbo felt very uneasy about a third person coming into his home, but if he was expected to be a good host and neighbor, he had to allow it. It wouldn’t do for them to think of him as someone who didn’t socialize. 

Plastering on a smile, Bilbo nodded, “of course! I’ll get to cooking now, and you can fetch your uncle and come back in an hour?”

The brothers did their silent conversation again and then nodded. “We’ve got big stomachs,” Fili warned, and Kili threw an arm around his sibling’s shoulders.

“Big as elephants,” Kili boasted, “and our uncle is just as bad!”

Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he could retract his invitation, but his anxiety and need to please got the best of him and he found himself laughing. “Don’t worry, I’ll cook extra,” he said, wondering if he’d gone absolutely mad even as the words left his mouth.

He saw Fili and Kili out the door, turning and staring at his disaster of an apartment and cursing himself yet again. “You’ve done it again, Bilbo,” he muttered, heading into the laundry room to grab an empty basket and carrying to the living room, “always trying to please others and never yourself,” he shoved all his papers and books off the table and into the basket. He set a pot on the stove to boil--because nothing was easier to make in large portions than pasta--and spent almost the entire time cleaning up his apartment. He made sure to keep an eye on dinner, tossing in a few spices and cooking up some meat to add into the sauce as well. 

When a knock came at his door exactly 55 minutes after Fili and Kili left, Bilbo hurried to dry his hands of sauce, rushing to the door. He pulled it open, prepared to welcome the brothers back in and momentarily forgetting his words when he recognized the silent man who had come into the store earlier, only to leave in a rush.

“Uhm,” Bilbo said intelligently, “hello.”

Fili and Kili appeared, popping their heads over the man’s shoulders. Kili waved, “Mr. Bilbo, this is our uncle Thorin,” he chirped. Bilbo stepped to the side, allowing the three men into his much-cleaner apartment.

Thorin, it seemed, was just as stiff as he had been at the shop, eyes darting around the apartment and then landing on Bilbo. This time, he smiled thinly, and reached a hand out. “I apologize for earlier… I’ve had a long day,” he said. Bilbo shook his head, taking Thorin’s hand in a firm shake.

“Not a problem,” he dismissed, feeling a little better now that there was some sort of excuse to the man’s odd behavior, “everyone has those days. Nothing better for them than a good meal, though, wouldn’t you say?” 

Thorin nodded, even though he was still staring oddly at Bilbo. “You seem like a man who enjoys food,” he said softly. Bilbo couldn’t help but take it as a compliment--he was a grocer, after all. 

Puffing his chest, Bilbo smiled a little and then led them to the table just outside the kitchen. “All good men know when to appreciate a good meal,” he said, startled when Fili and Kili bustled past him to get the pasta and things out of the kitchen and take them to the table. Bilbo looked to Thorin, who darted his eyes away from where he had been caught staring again.

“So, what brings you to Shireton?” Bilbo asked, knowing a good way to start any conversation was to ask about your guest and not to tell about yourself.

“I’m looking for someone,” Thorin said stiffly, digging his hands into the pockets of his suit. The uneasiness that had left him earlier came back tenfold, and Bilbo had to firmly tell himself to keep from jumping to any conclusions. He rocked onto his heels, palms patting at his thighs before he nodded firmly.

“Good luck with that,” he said, giving Thorin the best smile he could muster that did not scream, _‘I think you’re a hitman for the mafia’_ , and marching over to help Fili and Kili set the table. 

Thorin released an odd noise just then, coming up behind Bilbo and grabbing his elbow. “A friend,” he clarified, “who went missing a long time ago.”

Bilbo felt odd, a little dizzy, and he pulled his arm out of Thorin’s hold. “Hopefully your search ends soon,” he said, wondering why on earth he suddenly was being struck with a sense of déjà vu. Thorin nodded, thanking Bilbo and then taking a seat at the table. Fili and Kili were looking ready to eat the dishes themselves, and so Bilbo gestured to them as he sat down. 

“Well, dig in, then.”

They didn’t hesitate to obey, eating loudly and with loud, delighted sounds at the taste of the food. The longer Bilbo watched them, the less of an appetite he had. Still, it was nice to get such…enthusiastic responses to his food.

After everyone’s plates were cleared and bellies stuffed, Bilbo saw the three men out the door. Thorin was the last to leave, turning to face Bilbo with a serious look. “If you ever need anything, just let us know,” he said, sounding like he meant it for more than just the odd favor or two. Bilbo nodded nonetheless.

“I’ll do that.”

Thorin lingered, and then grunted before heading back to his apartment with the departing words of, “good night, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shut the door and let out a breath, his chest tight in many ways he couldn't understand. 

When Bilbo went to bed that night, he found himself unable to sleep without nightmares haunting his every breath. He dreamt of blood, of screams and pain, of wilderness and the feel of warm hands holding his face and even warmer lips pressing into his own. 

He awoke with tears on his face and pain in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

It was never a good thing when Bilbo’s day started off badly. Not only had he flubbed up poached eggs (how on earth he had, Bilbo hadn’t the foggiest), but he’d lost a sandal and was forced to wear actual shoes into the shop for the day. He hadn’t slept well at all for the past week--feeling almost like one of those zombies that Fili and Kili were so fond of going on and on about sometimes. 

Bilbo finally resigned himself to a terrible morning when he shuffled into the elevator, greeted Thorin (after holding the door open for him) and then somehow found the two of them trapped between the first floor and second floor when the elevator decided to stop working.

“Honestly?” Bilbo bemoaned, dropping his head against the wall of the elevator with distressed noise, “it’s just one floor…”

Thorin cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at his chin (which Bilbo could see the beginnings of a beard forming), and asked, “does this happen often?”

With a grunt, Bilbo yawned and shrugged, “they just fixed it two days ago,” he said, recalling the delight that came with realizing that he no longer had to carry his things up and down the stairs. Cracking an eye open, Bilbo scowled, “s’abit ridiculous for it to break down again. I think I’ve only seen this sort of thing happen in badly scripted romance films.”

There was a thud and Bilbo peered at Thorin to see him fumbling to pick up his dropped briefcase. “All right there?” he asked, watching Thorin studiously check the clasps and then nod at Bilbo sternly.

“Old leather,” Thorin grunted, glancing around suddenly and peering all over the elevator, “do you suppose it’s mice?”

Bilbo shuddered, “I would hope not--I just renewed my lease in November.”

Thorin shook his head, “couldn’t be mice… must be the wiring.” 

“Well then who is to say it won’t go out in our apartments? Who keeps up the maintenance in this place? They do rather shoddy work, it seems.”

Humming, Thorin opened his mouth once, twice, and then shut it with a click and shrug of his shoulders. Apparently even stoic, well-dressed men had their moments of speechlessness. Bilbo sighed, sliding down to sit on his bottom and hope that the elevator would get back to running soon. 

Letting his head drop back against the wall, Bilbo brought his knees up to his chest, “you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if the blokes up on twenty four were the ones who broke this blasted thing,” he said irritably. Thorin looked down at Bilbo, one eyebrow rising high on his forehead in curiosity.

Shrugging, Bilbo fiddled with his thumbs, “well they’re always causing a ruckus and throwing parties, you know. I’ve filed noise complaints but I’m rather certain they’re friends with the landlord; not even bringing the police here has gotten them evicted. A destructive lot, they all are….little goblins,” Bilbo muttered vehemently, wanting nothing more than to see them gone as soon as possible.

If his nightmares weren’t enough, the little sleep Bilbo could catch was often in interrupted snatches from the constant movement in the apartment above his. Normally it wasn’t an issue--he happened to be a rather deep sleeper--but when he couldn’t get past the first stages of drifting off, it was impossible to keep himself from being woken by the noise. 

Grunting, Thorin reached for the elevator panel, hitting buttons at random and making Bilbo leap this feet with a cry of, “don’t do that! You could break something!”

Thorin gave him a flat look and Bilbo quickly wrenched his hands back from where they had somehow decided to grab onto Thorin’s arm of their own volition. His skin still tingled from the contact, and Bilbo couldn’t help but wipe his palms on his trousers. Thorin turned back to the panel, mashing more buttons. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but sitting around here doing nothing won’t really get us out of here,” Thorin said lightly.

Bilbo huffed, and then crossed his arms when he was given an amused smirk in return. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here in no time,” Thorin assured, “I’m sure you’ve got your store to run and I have things I need to be doing today as well.”

Like it had been eavesdropping on Thorin (which was actually a bit odd, come to think of it), the elevator started to move again. Bilbo stood just as the door opened to the lobby, bidding Thorin farewell and hurrying to the shop to at least attempt to open on time. 

Luckily for Bilbo, it wasn’t much of a busy day. After the usual influx of afternoon customers in search of the fruit salads Bilbo usually prepared in the morning, he was left alone to watch a group of stout men working on setting up a sign for the new restaurant that was supposed to open later in the month. They were all a rather peculiar bunch; half of them bickering back and forth, causing as much destruction in and out of the store while simultaneously trying to fix it up. 

Since Thorin and the brothers had moved in, Bilbo’s life had been easier and harder all the same. His nightmares had come back (after years of therapy and medication to get rid of them, this was very distressing to Bilbo) and with them came insomnia. It must have been all of the changes in his life; Bilbo had never been one for a shift in his routine. Between Fili, Kili and Thorin, as well as Bofur in the tobacco shop and the restaurant being built across the way, it was no wonder Bilbo’s subconscious was taking it out on him with dreams of bloodshed and monsters. 

The upside was that Bilbo found himself with a few companions during his middle-of-the-night wanderings. It was as if his neighbors didn’t sleep, constantly bumping into Bilbo at the stairs, elevator, or even up on the roof. It helped a little--Bilbo would sometimes wander in the throes of insomnia and find himself chatting with Fili and Kili on the roof about the pros and cons of roast mutton versus roast pork. 

Thorin was probably the most interesting to bump into. He liked to stare, though Bilbo hadn’t the slightest idea why he was always asking the most random questions. Things like if he shaved his feet (that had been rather rude of him), and how often he ate. The other day Thorin had even asked him if he had any doilies, of all things. Bilbo had been so taken aback that Thorin had repeated the question and then gotten frustrated when Bilbo had informed him that no, he did not own any doilies. 

Still, he was a nice fellow despite all of his oddities, and at least Bilbo had someone to talk to that wasn’t nosy or geriatric. He hoped that once things settled in the next month or so that his nightmares would wane and that sleep would be a little easier to come by. 

As it was, Bilbo was rather exhausted from a night of trying and failing to sleep. He’d shirked half his opening duties (as the owner of the shop, Bilbo was surely allowed exceptions) and ended up leaning against the counter with his eyes drooping by the time afternoon rolled around. 

He had almost dozed off entirely when the sound of someone scoffing loudly woke him. Sitting up, a bit of dread settled into Bilbo’s gut to see Azog in his store once again, monstrous dog and everything. He sat up, because it wouldn’t do to be sleeping in his own store around customers, and cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, bringing a hand up to try and wipe the drowsiness out of his eyes. The corner of Azog’s lip pulled back into a sneer of a grin, one hand reaching out to pat Warg on the head.

“Doesn’t seem to be for you; having trouble running this little shop all on your own?” 

Bilbo stiffened, his toes curling in his shoes, and he attempted for a dismissive laugh, “Hardly, “ he chuckled--though his heart was beating madly in his chest out of paranoid fear--, “business has been a bit slow today, is all.”

Azog lifted a tomato, sniffing it and then dropping it back into the bin from such a height that Bilbo couldn’t help but wince at the bruising that would likely occur from the impact. Azog wiped his hand on the hip of his suit, turning to watch Bilbo with such an intense look that it made Bilbo’s skin crawl with anxiety.

“If it continues, you should look into selling before you have to declare bankruptcy,” Azog smiled, “unless you’d rather see this place fall to pieces before your eyes, you know.”

Bilbo swallowed heavily and Azog approached the counter, setting his left arm upon it with a plunking noise. It startled him, and that was when he realized that it wasn’t a real arm, but a prosthetic one. The leash was wound around the fake fingers, and for some reason the mere idea that this man had done something to warrant an amputation of his limb just made him want to shudder and walk right out of the shop.

Glancing up, Bilbo almost jumped out of his skin when he realized Azog had been watching him. Azog grinned wide, reaching up to tap at the plastic limb, “you could say that this sort of business can cost a man an arm or leg, hm?”

It was entirely unintended that Bilbo made a tiny noise of fright. That noise seemed only to make Azog grin all the more, and so Bilbo straightened his back and told himself that no intimidation technique would ever scare a Tucker, and that he was half Tucker by birth right.

Feigning a look at his watch, Bilbo made a noise of false surprise, “well,” he began, “as lovely as this chat has been, I’m sure you realize that it’s time for lunch.”

Azog pulled back, quirking a brow. Bilbo bustled around him, and almost screamed when Warg snarled and barked at him from where the dog had been sitting by Azog's feet. He stumbled for the door, going to grab the gate used to close the front from intruders. “This really was a fantastic little talk, but I’ve not eaten all morning. I’m afraid I’ll have to see you out until the lunch hour is over.”

A sharp, bitter snap of a chuckle escaped Azog as he headed for the door. “Until later then, little one,” the man said, pulling Warg back just as the dog tried to nip at Bilbo’s face. Bilbo didn’t hesitate to slam the gate shut behind him, fumbling with the lock and then taking a moment to catch his breath and calm his thundering heart. 

If this man was going to keep coming by, Bilbo needed someone else in the store, and possibly some security cameras for good measure. 

Two days later, Bilbo put an ad in the paper looking to hire a part-time employee to come by a few days a week. Despite what Bilbo thought was a generous pay offering, not many people seemed to use the newspaper much and nearly a week passed without any phone calls at all.

Everything else continued on as normal, though, and Bilbo nearly dropped a crate of pomelos when Thorin wandered into the store for the first time since their initial meeting. 

“Afternoon!” Bilbo greeted, setting the crate against his hip to wave Thorin over, “looking for me, or for some food?” he teased. Thorin made a face, eyes skimming a display of lettuce and cabbage.

“Everything you sell here is fresh, right?”

Bilbo dusted a bit of soil from his palms, maneuvering his way closer, “usually,” he said, “since nobody likes rotten fruit, it’d be a bit hard to sell anything but the fresh stuff, wouldn’t you think?”

Thorin snorted, picking up a head of lettuce and giving it a pained look before he set it back down. He did the same with the rest of the display--picking up various vegetables, grimacing at them, and then putting them back down. Bilbo would have thought it a bit odd of the man, but in the few times Thorin and his nephews had ended up coming over for dinner (which was more often than Bilbo would have ever thought), there was a distinct abundance of greenery leftovers on his neighbor’s plates.

“What do you feel about watermelon?” Bilbo asked, setting down the crate of pomelos and leading Bilbo to the melon display. He lifted a nice, well rounded watermelon and knocked on it twice to check for ripeness. Satisfied, he held it up to Thorin, only to receive that same crinkled nose and scowl that Thorin had given everything in the vegetable display. 

Setting the melon down with a sigh, Bilbo gave Thorin a flat look, “you know, just because it’s green doesn’t mean it won’t taste good.”

“I know that,” Thorin snapped, grabbing up the watermelon that Bilbo had just put down and tucking it under his arm. Bilbo was momentarily taken aback, but perhaps Thorin was the type who needed to think things over and just happened to take on a face of disdain when he was concentrating. 

Still, it wouldn’t do to have the man come in and only buy one thing. What with how many times Bilbo had fed them, it was justification to try to weasel a few more purchases out of the man. Business first, and all that. 

Bilbo gave him a quick rundown of some various fruits and even some preserves he had on the shelves that had been just marked down the week before. While Thorin let Bilbo pile things into the basket he’d suddenly acquired (Bilbo was, if nothing else, a great salesman), he also listened to Bilbo talk and offered input every so often.

“I’ve had an ad out for a week, you know. Nobody seems to use the paper anymore--but I only need someone here every few days to help watch the shop. You’d think with the economy the way it is, that people would be jumping at the chance for a job. I don’t suppose your nephews are in need of some spare money?” Bilbo joked, dropping three sweet potatoes into Thorin’s basket and then dragging him to the shelf full of herb plants. 

Thorin scoffed quietly, muttering, “they barely do the job they have now,” and making a face when Bilbo tried to put a small mint plant into the basket. Bilbo sighed, plucking it back out and returning it to the shelf. “I’ll see what I can do, though,” Thorin added, shifting the basket to his other hand. That was when his arm moved just enough to push out his suit jacket. The action gave Bilbo a sudden, accidental flash of a gun strapped to a shoulder holster under Thorin’s jacket.

Bilbo nearly dropped the bushel of clementines he had been picking up, biting on his tongue to keep from making any sign that he’d seen the gun. Surely Thorin was some sort of mobster or hitman--it only made sense, now that he thought about it. 

“Yes, well, I don’t see how you could help a simple grocer, but I appreciate the thought,” Bilbo stammered, putting some more fruit in the basket and putting on his most sincere smile. At least, for a hitman, Thorin seemed nice enough--if not a bit on the rough side. 

If Thorin looked at him oddly until he had purchased his things and left, Bilbo tried not to take notice. 

Three days later, Bilbo hired a softspoken college freshman named Ori that showed up out of the blue and hadn’t the foggiest idea what ‘newspaper ad’ Bilbo was talking about. He was a kind young man--one who hated eating anything green but completely loved cleaning and organizing the store. Bilbo was sure that Ori was a godsend; always tidying up, fixing signs, finding spoiled food, and even letting some of the elderly women coo over him and use it to up-sell various fruits. 

He was the best employee Bilbo could have asked for.

When the Lonely Mountain Bar and Grill finally had their grand opening not a week later, Bilbo was surprised to find Bofur bursting into the shop with the express desire to drag Bilbo and Ori to snag one of the first meals they’d be selling. 

Bilbo, being a man who enjoyed his food greatly, was happy with closing a little early that night. Bofur was apparently related to the owner of the place, so he’d secured them a table without having to even call in advance. That was how he met Bombur, Bifur, Dwalin, Oin and Balin--the whole head staff of the restaurant. 

Bombur was quick to hustle them into the best table in the entire place--close to the bar but far enough to allow some form of privacy. Bilbo’s head was still spinning from all the introductions he’d undergone, trying to at least focus on the menu, when a familiar voice called his name out.

Looking up, Bilbo almost dropped his menu when he saw Fili and Kili marching over with Thorin following at a more leisurely pace. He grinned, still feeling rather overwhelmed from it all. “Hello boys. Here to try the new foo--oh, yes, well I suppose…you could…pull an entire table over,” Bilbo trailed off, drowned out by Bofur’s laughter while Fili and Kili completely ignored all restaurant etiquette to carry the nearest table over and shove it up against Bilbo’s. Ori clutched to his menu, watching the proceedings with wide eyes as Fili, Kili and Thorin made themselves comfortable in their new seating. 

Though he was far from a hermit, Bilbo very dearly wished for the comfort of his little hole-in-the-wall apartment just then. As they ordered, the entire crew seemed to be bustling about, stopping to chat with Bofur constantly and joking with Fili and Kili. They even went so far as to drag Ori and Bilbo into conversation. It was great service, no doubt, but Bilbo was starting to feel a little drained from it all.

It seemed he only needed some quiet and good food, however, because when their meals were brought out, silence hit as sudden as a coin dropping. Everyone dug in, getting halfway through their food before conversation started up again. Mostly it was Fili and Kili who did the talking. They chatted about anything and everything, cracking jokes and making lighthearted jabs at Thorin with any chance they got. 

Bilbo could feel the anxiety around his chest easing as time passed, and the more he got used to the loudness of the restaurant and the extreme energy in the room, it was easier to loosen up and laugh. It wasn’t something he could recall ever having done, given how solitary he tended to get, but the food was amazing and the company--once adjusted to--was just as good. 

By the time things drew to a close and Bilbo found himself walking back to his apartment with Fili, Kili and Thorin, he felt a lot happier than he had in a long time. Fili and Kili had a habit of falling behind, caught up in their own conversations, inside jokes, and sometimes stopping to tussle a little on the sidewalk. Thorin kept pace with Bilbo, though, their elbows and shoulders bumping every now and then. They didn’t exchange many words, but it was a calming silence--like the kind that came with curling up with a favorite book.

Fili and Kili went inside their apartment first, bidding Bilbo a good night and bustling inside. Thorin seemed a little less inclined for an abrupt departure, because he hovered for a long while with a frown like he wanted to say something and didn’t know how to express the right words. Bilbo shifted, digging his hands into his pockets to find his keys.

“Might try that again sometime?” he offered, hesitating after he’d unlocked the door. Thorin was a nice man--and, well… Bilbo didn’t meet many nice people who put up with his little quirks. “Just us?”

Thorin gaped, and Bilbo quickly pushed his door open. It wasn’t the first time he’d misread someone’s signals--and it wasn’t like Thorin was an easy man to read. Bilbo had just hoped that all of the hovering and stilted conversations had equated to more than just an awkward friendship. “Ah, apologies… I must have--”

“I’d love to,” Thorin blurted gruffly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark, unfairly fitting jeans. Bilbo felt his face grow hot and a tiny and pleased smile pull at his lips. Thorin shifted towards his apartment door, reaching for the handle. “Next week? I have some things to take care of, first.”

Well, as if Bilbo didn’t already assume that the man was in the mafia, this did little to dissuade his theories. He nodded nonetheless, unable to stop smiling. A date was a date, and for a man like Bilbo who did not interact well with people, it was something he hadn’t done in a very long time. “Thursday?”

“Thursday.” Thorin confirmed, one hand coming up in the most awkward wave that Bilbo had ever seen in his entire life, and then slipped into his apartment.

Feeling childishly giddy, Bilbo went to bed that night with a smile on his face.

Four hours later, he awoke from dreams of blood and pain, screaming a name he couldn’t remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah! my tumblr is thorinfuckinshield. uhh. yes. hope you are enjoying this so far? <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter :D

“Are you sure Dr. Cochran retired?” Bilbo asked again, just to be sure. The man could have hardly been over forty; and this new therapist was much, much older than Dr. Cochran .

“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Gandalf said gravely, fiddling his pencil and tilting his head to look at Bilbo with raised eyebrows, “however, we are not here to discuss the employment Dr. Cochran. We’re here about you, Mr. Baggins.”

“Bogg,” Bilbo corrected instinctively, “Baggins is just the store name my mother came up with.” Not that Bilbo disliked the name. In fact, he’d always thought Baggins was a much nicer name than Bogg. Bogg just made him think of gross, sticky swamps full of frogs and snakes. 

Dr. Gandalf eased back into his chair, nodding slowly, “of course. My apologies.”

Bilbo shifted in his seat, rubbing his palms on his knees and dragging in an unsteady breath. It had taken him a good while to get used to his last therapist. That was the issue with doctors, because many were in it for money, and a great deal of others were in it for the control and the feeling of power that came with telling others how to live their lives. Bilbo had gone through at least five since his parents had died--some wanting to prescribe him medication, others insisting that he conform to their methods of treatment. Bilbo was not a picky man, nor was he spineless.

“You aren’t going to prescribe me anything, are you?” he asked, just for good measure. Dr. Gandalf seemed surprised, and burst into soft, hearty laughter at the question.

“Goodness, no!” he exclaimed, crossing one long leg over the other and smiling softly, “I’m here to help you, not to fix you.”

The tightness that had been winding up in Bilbo’s chest eased suddenly. He sighed in relief, sagging into his chair and then fiddling his fingers together. It was rather dreadful that smoking indoors was outlawed--Bilbo could have used a puff or two from his pipe to ease his nerves. 

“Now then,” Dr. Gandalf gestured at Bilbo, “tell me a story.”

“A story?” Bilbo echoed, “about what?”

Dr. Gandalf smiled, “why, you, of course.”

Bilbo’s anxiety came back at first, but he closed his eyes and let the first thing that came to mind blurt itself out, “I haven’t slept more than three hours in two days, I’ve got new neighbors, the loud people above me got evicted yesterday, and I’m going on a date for the first time in six years.”

Bilbo paused, and then added, “and I keep having the same dreams over and over again.”

Dr. Gandalf hummed, thumbing over his eraser thoughtfully. He looked far more interested than Dr. Cochran ever had. His eyes twinkled with curiosity, and every so often his lips would twitch or his eyebrows would bounce like he was eager to hear more. It helped much more than Bilbo thought possible. To know that someone--even a man who was paid hourly to talk to him--was interested in his life, was enough for Bilbo to want to keep talking.

“I honestly haven’t the foggiest idea what they’re about,” Bilbo picked at his thumb nail, “half the time I forget the whole thing by the time I’ve made my first cup of tea. I wake up terrified most nights--feeling like..like when my parents died.”

A soft noise of surprise came from Dr. Gandalf, and Bilbo peeked up at him. Surely he knew of Bilbo’s parents and how they’d died. It was in Bilbo’s file. Either way, Bilbo shook his head, “but that’s not right. It’s a different pain--like I’ve lost more than just my mum and dad… like I’ve lost everything? Sometimes I dream of loneliness. Sometimes I dream of being invisible. None of it makes sense, really, and I don’t think it ever will.”

Staring at his palms, Bilbo tried to focus on the feelings; the sensations and memories that came with his nightmares. “Screaming… there’s always lots of screaming… and sunlight. Places I’ve never seen before. I think there are a lot of people in my dreams but I can’t remember their faces.” Bilbo looked up, his heart thundering madly in his chest as a particular memory struck him. He swallowed, already uneasy just from thinking about the cold sweats of fright that he often woke up in. 

“They all die, in the end…die or leave me.”

Silence fell over the room for a long moment as Gandalf scratched at his beard, which a long mass of gray hair that made him look a bit like Santa, if Bilbo really thought about it. “Have you thought of writing these dreams down?”

“Beg pardon?”

“A notebook or something, perhaps? I’m sure writing them down may help you to remember what you’ve forgotten. At the very least, writing dreams and thoughts down is a very common practice of self-treatment.”

In all honesty, Bilbo had always wanted to write a book. He had just never actually sat down and written anything. The ideas never came to him that easily when he started to worry about things like publishers and the like. Still, if the woman who wrote those atrocious vampire books had based them off of her dreams, surely Bilbo would do all right with his own.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Bilbo admitted, “I’d never really thought of it before.”

Smiling, Dr. Gandalf set his pencil down, writing something on his notepad, “I could always be a little biased; we all know how much writing I have to do in this line of work…but I think it could do you some good. You seem to gave a lot on your mind. It wouldn’t hurt to put it to paper.”

“I’ll give you that,” Bilbo murmured, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in thought. He had a lot of things in his head, but most of it was held so firmly in that he had honestly never thought to write it down or share it. With Dr. Cochran, most of their talking had involved Bilbo’s social anxiety and lack of patience for elderly people who treated him like he knew nothing about the very food he sold.

Pencil tapping his paper, Dr. Gandalf made a long, low hum of thinking. “You said you have a date?” 

Bilbo’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he nodded slowly. “Yes, this Thursday. He’s… he’s one of my new neighbors, and lives with his nephew,” Bilbo waited for Gandalf to make some sort of comment about sexuality, but nothing came but a nod to continue. Bilbo shrugged, “I’m not sure what his line of work is… he seems a bit odd at times. Up at hours like I am. I think that he has a hard time with conversation; which is understandable with nephews like his. I doubt he gets much chance to speak at all.”

“Do you care that you don’t know what he does for a living?”

“Not…I mean…well, yes but. We’ve not even gone out on our first date. I’m sure he’ll tell me if it’s dangerous or not. He’s a very private man,” Bilbo brought his hand up, and nearly chewed on his nail before remembering that he was trying to break that habit. Sighing, Bilbo dropped his palm into his lap, “he’s very attractive--much more than I am…but for some strange reason, I don’t think that matters to him.”

Dr. Gandalf smiled, and Bilbo couldn’t help but return it with a timid grin of his own.

By the time the appointment was over, Bilbo was feeling much better than he had in days. It was like a huge weight had been taken off of his chest to just find someone to share his thoughts with that wouldn’t pass judgment. Ori was managing the shop for the day, which gave Bilbo the chance to go home and search through his bookshelves for an empty notebook that he could start to use to Dr. Gandalf’s suggestions.

One thing that stuck with him about the meeting was how Bilbo didn’t feel nervous around this new therapist. Dr. Gandalf felt familiar; like an old friend that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was no wonder the man was still in the business at his age. With such an amiable personality like that, there were probably hundreds of people lining up wanting to be his patient. 

Bilbo spent most of the afternoon going through some old books on his shelf--distracted by their dusty pages that he’d neglected for many years. It was comforting to a point where, when he finally did come across an empty notebook, he didn’t hesitate to scribble down the date and a summary of his afternoon and his trepidations about his date with Thorin.

Thursday was met with a spring in Bilbo’s step. He couldn’t help but be excited. Sure, he and Thorin had bumped into one another a few times during the week, but they kept entirely civil for it. The closest that either of them had come to anything outside of platonic was a lingering touch to the shoulder or when their hands brushed while walking together or taking the elevator at the same time. 

He spent the entire morning sweeping the store and even cleaning the windows to help keep his mood bright. Azog hadn’t bothered him at all in the passing days and with the winter still going strong, business was going up as customers came in to find cheaper prices from Baggins than they’d find at a chain store. 

Not even the sight of Thranduil (Formerly Randy, until he informed Bilbo that, “I would prefer you call me by my earth name, Thranduil, and not the one given to me by my animal-slaughtering parents.”) could put a damper on his mood. If anything, the sight of five year old Legolas toddling loyally after his father only helped to cheer Bilbo up even more.

While Thranduil picked through every selection in the store, asking things about pesticides, fair trade, where the food was grown, and the day of the shipment’s arrival, Legolas dutifully kept close by. He was a rather adorable child, with pale hair like his fathers that hung in a bob, as well as a blue cardigan and beanie made entirely of hemp. Of course, Bilbo only knew this because Thranduil had suggested Bilbo look into buying hemp clothes as a means of keeping sheep off the shearing farms.

Bilbo tried to engage the child in conversation, but all he really got were statements like, “I have lettuce,” and, “you have no shoes on.”

Eventually, Legolas got bored enough to let his hands wander. He filched the first carrot he could reach from the display, brandishing it like a sword and running around the store swinging it at invisible foes. Bilbo didn’t particularly mind--a little carrot was no big deal if it kept a child happy. Thranduil, however, did seem to care. He plucked the carrot from his son’s hands, putting it back in the display.

“If you behave, you may get a doll at the store,” Thranduil told him. Legolas looked forlornly at the carrot, and then nodded at his father.

“I wanna bow an’ arrow, father,” he chirped. Thranduil made a face like it was an unpleasant thought to see his son with a weapon that could likely cause harm to anything that walked on four legs.

“You’d make a dashing huntsman,” Bilbo piped up to Legolas, not wanting the child to be too discouraged. 

Thranduil sighed, “or huntswoman,” in a chastising tone. Taken aback, Bilbo panicked for a moment. He hadn’t meant to offend, and though he had heard many a story about those born as the wrong gender, it wasn’t easy to tell sometimes.

“Yes,” he said, “or woman,” he hadn’t meant to step on any toes. Hopefully Thranduil knew that and didn’t take his business elsewhere. He usually bought a fair amount of food when he came in to shop.

“Legolas is being raised in a gender neutral environment so that he can life a life without the social pressure of conforming to perceived expectations of his peers,” Thranduil explained stiffly, taking Legolas’ hand and guiding him towards the back where Bilbo kept a small display of herb plants.

Legolas twisted his head so he could look Bilbo dead in the eyes, voice light but emotionless as he stated, “I don’t like dresses ‘cuz I get sand in my butt when I sit down.”

A laugh caught in Bilbo’s throat before he could stop it. He coughed, bringing a hand to his mouth to try and disguise the chuckle that was trying to break free. Luckily, before Bilbo could do anything else unintentionally offensive and make Thranduil‘s withering stare worse, Thorin was pushing open the door to the shop and striding over to the register.

Perking up, Bilbo smiled at Thorin, inclining his head with a soft, “good afternoon,” of greeting. Thorin hesitated for a second, eyes drawn to where Thranduil was nonchalantly browsing the display of preserves. He looked rather agitated, actually, and Bilbo had to wonder if perhaps the two men knew one another.

“Something wrong?” Bilbo asked. Thorin snapped his gaze back to Bilbo and shook his head.

“It’s nothing…”

Humming, Bilbo tapped the pencil against his chin, fiddling with the paper he’d been using to write down some inventory notes. “Are… are we still on for tonight, then?” he asked, smiling hesitantly even as anxiety made it hard for him to breathe right.

“Yes,” Thorin assured, “I was coming by to see if you’d be interested in going somewhere else? Somewhere quieter than Lonely Mountain, at least.”

Bilbo was tempted to kiss Thorin where he stood at that very moment. The grill had been enjoyable, but Bilbo had spent half the night feeling overwhelmed by all of the bustling activity going on. It wasn’t likely that Thorin had noticed--and Bilbo had, eventually, gotten used to it all--but the thought was still appreciated. 

Grinning, Bilbo leaned onto the counter a little more, “so long as you’re driving,” he said, “I haven’t got a car.”

Thorin nodded, his hand sliding forward so that his fingers tangled with Bilbo’s for a second. He stared at their hands, frowning and then glancing up, “does Beorn’s sound familiar?” he asked, suddenly staring at Bilbo like the answer could mean life or death.

“It does,” Bilbo muttered, wracking his brain for where on earth he’d heard that name. Thorin’s fingers twitched against his own, sudden and sharp. It took a second to place the name, but when he did, Bilbo felt rather proud of himself. “The buffet off Carrock Street? Out by the Anduin river?”

For a second, Thorin’s face fell, but he nodded quickly, “that‘s the one.”

Bilbo momentarily wondered if perhaps there had been something he was supposed to get, but since Thorin didn’t ask him anything else, he didn’t bother to comment.

“Excuse me,” Thranduil cut in sharply, appearing behind Thorin from out of nowhere. Thorin snapped his head up, the hand holding Bilbo’s jerking away to curl into a fist like it was pure instinct. Thranduil gave him a disdainful stare and hoisted up his shopping basket. “I’d like to finish my shopping--seeing as how I’m a customer and you don’t seem to be.”

“Apologies, Thrandeel,” Bilbo stammered over his name on accident, cringing when the vegan looked ready to strangle him with a sweet potato. The basket was shoved his way and Bilbo quickly started to ring everything up. 

“You have a gun,” Legolas chirped up from Thranduil’s side. Bilbo dropped the head of broccoli he was weighing, surprised to see Thorin staring down at the child and bringing a hand up to his breast--where Bilbo knew his shoulder holster was. 

Ignoring Thranduil’s scandalized look, Thorin nodded to Legolas, “it’s for my job,” he said smartly, in a way that implied he’d interacted with children more than once before. Thranduil scowled at the price of some leeks and plucked two from the pile and set them aside. Bilbo adjusted the price without a word.

Legolas went wide-eyed and whispered loudly, “are you a policeman?” 

“Something like that,” Thorin said, just as Bilbo finished the last item and began bagging everything up. Thranduil put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, pulling the child in close.

“We don’t talk to strangers,“ he chastised, handing Bilbo cash to pay for his purchases. Bilbo quickly came up with the right amount of change while Legolas kept watching Thorin like a hawk from under his father’s hand. Thorin took it well, hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants and feigning interest in some cheap trinkets Bilbo had set up next to the register. 

Thranduil left the second he had his change, shooting Thorin a dark look and uttering, “filthy bloodmouth,” before disappearing out the front door.

Bilbo stood there for a moment, rather taken aback, and then Thorin grunted and murmured, “don’t ever ask him for a favor,” in a vague manner.

They made plans to eat at Beorn’s just after Bilbo closed up for the day and chatted for a few more minutes about the new tenants replacing the noisy ones on the floor above, and then Thorin grimaced at his watch.

“I have some things to get done. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Oh, seven thirty, please,” Bilbo pleaded, “I’d like to at least change my clothes.”

Thorin hesitated from moving away, eyes raking over Bilbo’s body in a way that made the tips of Bilbo’s ears burn hot. Slowly, he nodded, “I suppose, if that’s what you want. I’ve seen you in worse.”

Bilbo bristled, but Thorin looked a little mortified at himself because he quickly added, “and you looked great even then.”

This time, Bilbo’s mouth hurt with how hard it was not to smile. Lips twitching, he swept a few leaves from the counter. “Flatterer,” he accused smugly. 

“You’ve always been fond of flattery,” Thorin pointed out. Bilbo wanted to protest--because it wasn’t often that anyone ever bothered to compliment him--but it wasn’t far from the truth. He honestly couldn’t recall and earlier time that Thorin had ever showered him with kind words, but there were a few nights he’d spent wandering about the apartment complex that he couldn’t clearly remember. There was a chance they’d chatted before about this type of thing and Bilbo was just unable to recall it.

Preening just a bit, Bilbo patted dirt from his trousers and hummed, “well I must say, coming from you, it’s quite the compliment.”

That got a chuckle out of Thorin, and it was enough to keep Bilbo in good spirits even after the other man left to return to work.

At exactly seven thirty, there came a knock on the door to Bilbo’s apartment. Thorin stood on the other side, no longer in his suit but instead wearing a leather jacket over a black tee, boots and dark jeans that clung to his legs and made Bilbo’s mouth water. Bilbo suddenly felt very much overdressed with his pale green button-down, khaki slacks and black coat. For a moment, Bilbo contemplated going back in to change, but Thorin merely smiled and held a hand out.

“Ready to go?”

Thorin drove a rust-red mustang with leather seats and absolutely no trash or knick-knacks in it whatsoever. If Bilbo were to really think about it, he’d wonder if Thorin had taken the time to clean his car out before their date. However, Bilbo didn’t want to make assumptions about Thorin’s cleanliness, so he settled for admiring the shininess of the dashboard while Thorin tapped in directions to Beorn’s Buffet on his GPS.

A thought struck Bilbo just as they hit the highway, and he sat up abruptly. “I remember where I’ve heard Beorn’s name before!” he exclaimed, feeling a bit foolish over the fact that he’d actually forgotten one of his customers. Beorn had purchased a mass supply of goods from Bilbo the year prior when his normal supplier had run out of half the things they had needed for the week. It had been a great sale for Bilbo and it was entirely unprofessional of him to forget the kind owner after only a year. 

“What?” Thorin snapped, the car lurching as he pulled his foot off the gas. Thankfully, he didn’t break, but the car behind them still honked and went around even as Thorin hurriedly sped up once more. 

Flustered, Bilbo quickly sat back in his seat and fiddled with his seatbelt. “He bought some things from my store last year. He was a very nice man; I don’t know how on earth I could have forgotten him.”

Shrugging, Thorin focused on driving, “perhaps you just have a lot on your mind…is there anything else you’ve forgotten lately?”

“Hm?” Bilbo hummed, wriggling into his seat to get comfortable and then shaking his head, “no, not really.”

“Ah.”

When they got to the buffet, Beorn was stationed to greet all of the guests. His face lit up when he caught sight of Bilbo, booming out, “little rabbit!” and dragging Bilbo into a crushing hug. Oh, how on earth Bilbo could have forgotten the hugs or the atrocious nickname, he hadn’t the slightest clue. If Bilbo had known then that commenting on his love for carrots would earn him a moniker that would embarrass him in front of his first date in years, Bilbo would have sworn months ago to never eat another bite of them ever again.

Luckily, Beorn set him down as quickly as he’d lifted him. Bilbo hurried to explain and apologize to Thorin so as not to give the wrong impression, but the man was merely smiling fondly at the exchange. Beorn led them to the best table for two they had in the buffet, even going so far as to offer a discount for all the help that Bilbo had given him the year before.

By the time they’d each filled up a plate and sat down, Bilbo was at a loss for what to talk about. He poked at some stir fry he’d piled onto his plate, eating a mouthful and then humming in delight at the taste. “The food here is always good,” he commented. Thorin, froze in the middle of biting into a buffalo wing and Bilbo had to cough on a laugh at how he’d gotten sauce all over his chin and lips. 

It was disgusting at the same time it was a little endearing. 

Grabbing a napkin, Bilbo slid one closer to Thorin as he chewed and swallowed his mouthful. “I guess that means you think so, too?”

Wiping his mouth, Thorin muttered, “some food is meant to be eaten without charm.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Bilbo pointed a finger at his date, “we’ve both seen how your nephews eat. I have to get out the paper plates when they come over for dinner.”

Thorin chuckled, and they soon dove into a conversation about Fili and Kili’s quirks. Somehow, it turned into a discussion on hobbies, and then to genres and such. “Do you like fantasy books?” Thorin asked, drinking his water and then giving it a look like he desperately wished it was beer instead. 

Bilbo had no idea what possessed him to, but he blurted out, “I’m actually working on a fantasy book at the moment…in my free time, that is.”

Setting his glass down, Thorin peered at Bilbo with an interested quirk in his brow.

“It’s uh,” Bilbo fidgeted with his fork, “well, it’s based off these dreams and nightmares I often get. I figure if they’re going to keep me awake at night, I might as well write about them, yeah?”

“What do you dream of?” Thorin asked softly. 

It took no more prompting than that for Bilbo to spill what he could--how it was mainly emotions and thoughts, memories that were blurs of action with no names or faces tied to any of them. He told Thorin how he’d forget upon waking up, and how writing them down kept the dreams from slipping away every morning.

By the time he was done eating, Bilbo had exhausted himself of what he could remember of his dreams; of battles, beasts and monsters, traveling great distances, of a large group of friends and of another’s intimate touch. He finally leaned back with a sigh, sipping his tea and murmuring, “so… I’ve started to write them down each morning to help me remember.”

Thorin’s eyes were intense all through Bilbo’s talking, and when there was silence, he cleared his throat and nodded, “good, yes… that’s good.. You should do that.”

For some reason, Bilbo couldn’t help but watch him for a moment. Thorin’s normally cleanshaven face had been left alone for a good week or two, giving him the beginnings of a dark, thick beard. Bilbo felt a pang of nostalgia just sitting there and honestly looking at the man. His hair was combed back from his face, hands clasped together on the table while he started to scowl under Bilbo’s staring.

“What?”

Smiling, Bilbo softly said, “you’re growing a beard.”

This seemed to be the last thing Thorin was expecting. He brought a hand up, cupping his chin, muttering, “my job has been… I haven’t had--”

“I like it,” Bilbo interrupted. Thorin fell silent and Bilbo suddenly found himself unable to look anywhere but at the fork he was twisting around in his hands. “It suits you…goes well with your hair,” and it did. There were bits of gray at the corner’s of Thorin’s temples, but other than that his hair was a soft black that he always kept brushed back from his face.

Clearing his throat, Thorin scratched at his jaw and mumbled, “I could always grow it out,” with the corners of his lips twitching in a pleased smile. Bilbo couldn’t help it; he beamed wide, chest swelling with an odd giddiness at the idea that Thorin would grow his beard out--and he’d do it just because Bilbo liked it.

They paid their bill soon after, bidding Beorn a good night and hustling into the car upon realizing that a cold wind had kicked up sometime during their dinner. Thorin quickly turned the heat on, muttering something about not wanting Bilbo to get too cold, and then they headed home. 

Unable to help himself, Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand on the gear shift. He had thick, strong fingers covered in calluses that couldn’t have just been from working in an office his whole life. That was when Bilbo realized he still knew next to nothing about the man sitting beside him. Thorin allowed Bilbo to play with his fingers, seemingly content until Bilbo asked, “where are you from?” and he went still.

For a moment, Bilbo wondered if he’d crossed a line, but then Thorin was shrugging and saying, “I grew up in a mining town in South Wales.”

He honestly didn’t have much of an accent, though. If anything, Thorin seemed to have an indefinable accent; one that came from going from place to place his whole life, possibly. Thorin pursed his lips, apparently sensing Bilbo’s thoughtful stare, and added, “my grandfather died from a cave-in when I was ten, and my dad left not long after. My sister and I never had a mother; we were put into foster care and separated.”

“Your sister…is she Fili and Kili’s mother?”

“Yes,” Thorin said stiffly. Bilbo had a feeling he wasn’t particularly in the mood to say anything else. Not wanting to push, Bilbo nodded and looked down at where he had been tapping his thumb against Thorin’s knuckles.

“I’ve lived here all my life. All the kids at school used to call me Billy, but then in the second grade there was two other boys named Billy. So they called me Bilbo because of my last name. It stuck after that. My mom opened the store a year or two after that…” he smiled, peering out the window and dragging in a sad sigh, “she was much better at business than I’ll ever be.”

“Was?” Thorin asked. 

Bilbo shrugged, “she died ten years ago from illness--” he sucked in a sharp breath, pain flaring in his temple for a moment and then shaking his head, “no…that’s not right. I don’t know why I said that. She and my father were killed by a drunk driver.”

Thorin stared at him for a long time--to a point where Bilbo was getting nervous about his lack of focus on the road--before he finally looked away and twisted his hand to grab Bilbo’s palm and squeeze it gently. Bilbo hadn’t a clue why he thought his mother would have died of sickness, given that his parents had health insurance almost their whole lives. He shook that thought away, though, not wanting to dwell on why his mind was mixing things up.

“I got the shop, but lost our home so I got an apartment as close as I could to the store. And that’s about it… I don’t have much of a story to tell, I’m afraid.”

Thorin parked in front of their apartment complex, pulling his hand from Bilbo’s to shut the car off. Unbuckling, he turned to give Bilbo a long, thoughtful stare. 

“That just means the exciting part hasn’t happened yet,” he said gruffly, opening his door. 

“Wh-what? Oh no,” Bilbo scrambled to get out of the car, stumbling around to reach Thorin and stammering, “I’m okay with a normal, boring old life. Exciting things are bad for the heart, and I’m too old for adventures. No; no adventures for me.” 

As Bilbo caught up to Thorin’s side, he heard a soft chuckle of, “that’s what you said last time,” just as the elevator pinged. Bilbo almost wanted to ask for clarification, but then Thorin was grabbing his hand and pulling him in through the doors.   
They stepped out not a minute later, with Thorin following Bilbo to his door until Bilbo turned around and dragged in a nervous breath. He wasn’t really sure how to secure a second date--was he supposed to let Thorin ask? Or should he ask again? It was entirely likely he would be far too forward to ask a second time…

“This was nice,” he blurted, swinging his arms a little and patting them on his thighs. Thorin rose an eyebrow, mouth twitching.

“Nice,” he echoed.

“Well, yes. It was just dinner--very good and all-- but I think we should uh, try again, you know. Practice makes perfect.” Bilbo cringed, because there was no way he could have made himself sound like any more of an imbecile. When Thorin didn’t say anything right away, he peeked up to see the man watching him with that same, intense look of focus.

Digging his hands into his pockets, Bilbo chewed the inside of his lip. Thorin took a step forward, one hand reaching up so that his fingers were hovering Bilbo’ arm, but not touching. “Are you trying to ask if I’d like to go out with you again?”

With a shrug and a sudden shortness of breath, Bilbo took a step back towards his door, “well, you seemed to enjoy my company, and I enjoy yours, so--”

“Bilbo,” Thorin cut in, his scowl deepening before he shook his head at the way Bilbo’s mouth had clicked shut, “you could just have said so.”

He made it sound so easy, he really did. Bilbo didn’t understand how so many people could put themselves out there and just hope not to get their hearts broken. “Mmh,” he hummed, smiling thinly and then struggling to think of something to say. It was so much easier to imply a question than to ask it and face outright rejection.

However, Thorin was still staring, and Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh nervously before asking, “would you like to do this again? Perhaps frequently? As in a more perma--”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Bilbo squeaked, clearing his throat and nodding seriously, “good.”

“Mhm,” Thorin agreed, stepping in closer. Bilbo’s heart ratcheted up in his chest, finding himself short of breath as they grew closer and closer. He hadn’t kissed anyone in years--he was likely to be terrible at it. Thorin would probably break up with him on sheer principal of horrid kisses, actually.

Swallowing, Bilbo stammered, “well…good night,” and turned to unlock his apartment door. He’d barely pulled the key out before Thorin was grabbing him and turning him so suddenly that Bilbo only saw a series of blurs. He gasped, the sound muffled when a pair of lips pressed gently into his own. Despite the rushed beginning, the kiss was chaste and innocent in a way that made Bilbo whine, chest aching like this was something he’d missed dearly. He brought a shaking hand up, curling it around Thorin’s shoulder, mouth parting to deepen the kiss as Thorin cupped his cheek. It lasted for only a moment longer, slow and lingering, before Thorin pulled back almost reluctantly.

Bilbo let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, lips pulling into a mad grin that made him feel a bit childish.

“Do you remember?” Thorin asked roughly, other hand coming up so that he was framing Bilbo’s face with his huge palms. 

Bilbo frowned, “beg pardon?”

“Do you remember now?”

Feeling a little lost, Bilbo wracked his brain for anything that could have possibly related to this moment. When he came up with nothing, he frowned, “what exactly is it that I’m remembering?”

Thorin looked crestfallen for a brief second, but it was quickly gone as he shook his head, muttering, “never mind,” and then looking up at Bilbo like he was going to lean in for another kiss. Bilbo leaned in, but Thorin was already pulling away. He watched in confusion as the other man headed for his own apartment, opening the door and barely bidding Bilbo a good night before he disappeared inside. 

Bilbo’s head started to ache the longer he stood there, utterly confused. That throb in his temple was back again, and he headed back into his apartment to take some painkillers and drink a bit of tea. He was halfway through the glass when he gave into the urge to pull his cell phone out. By the time he’d pulled up Thorin’s number, he no longer had the courage to text him. Technically they’d already secured another date, but it might have seemed too needy to text him not an hour afterwards just to find out when and where. 

They saw each other plenty; it wouldn’t hurt to wait until they bumped into one another again. It was better to do that than to come across as desperate, right?

He showered and then curled up in front of the television with a bottle of wine. Normally he was a ’one glass’ type of man, but with his insomnia the way it was, Bilbo figured it wouldn’t hurt to drink some extra. If he was lucky, the alcohol could help him get a few extra hours of sleep.

Despite three glasses, though, Bilbo didn’t sleep that night. His nerves were rattled, anxiety churning in his gut all night as he replayed those last few seconds with Thorin. He knew it was probably nothing, but the last time Bilbo had been with anyone, they’d broken up due to lack of communication. Bilbo rather liked Thorin--no matter how odd the man could get. Thinking back, Thorin did seem to like him well enough. Perhaps there had just been something else on the man’s mind, and that’s what caused his strange reaction.

Bilbo hadn’t even realized he’d stayed up the entire night worrying until the first signs of light crept in through the blinds, stirring him from his thoughts. He felt exhausted, but it was too late to catch any sleep. He had to open the shop in just a few hours.

Yawning, Bilbo went to make himself another cup of tea. He could talk to Thorin later, and maybe things would get all sorted out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Thorin. :C you're trying so hard.


End file.
